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“It’s not you, it’s me” said my cheese sandwich after years of being together. Oozing with deliciousness and coated in butter. Damn it, thinking of him, he still looks beautiful.
“You see we just aren’t compatible. I want it to work just as much as you, but it just isn’t”. And it wasn’t just the cheese, it was the garlic butter with my steak that just was no longer compatible.
All those take-away nights of tikka masalas, now, gone. Like a distant memory.
And well, ice-cream now that really broke my heart.
I reminisce about days of eating a block of Charleville just as a snack. It’s shade like the sunset and the body addictive in its zingy aftertaste. I thought maybe it will be different with a bit of time apart. I wanted it to work, sneaking melted butter on my popcorn and requesting extra cream to my tall Frappuccino with milky goodness. It was as though dairy was my mistress. Surely my love and I, we just need a break to realise how much we actually love each other. How naked will my lasagne be without the blanket of melted delight? But alas, gradually soya replaced that of Avon more in the fridge and Philadelphia was only associated with the American city as opposed to the perfect companion of smoked salmon. All the Christmases we shared together.
My heart ached for milkshakes. How can such a delicious food group cause so much agony. Years of suffering through my full-fat white mochas, I still think maybe it was worth it.
All heartbreaks take time to get over. And just as I banished the thought of long walks on the beach with my 99 cone, I settled for an Alpro yogurt instead. And I was comfortable, settled, I was okay.
When I reached my last stage of grief and was strong enough to say no to the slithers of parmesan offered to me for my pasta in a restaurant, I felt I was finally over dairy. Like any unrequited love, I knew it would just hurt me in the long run. My bowl was the good friend telling me “it’s not worth it”. Though my heart still whispered “get the sour cream” on every burrito I met.
My last great loss really took the biscuit. Literally.
“I make you sick!” exclaimed my battered fish and chips one evening. I thought we had something special. Oh God. Not you too gluten, I can change. I swear.
Some loves you can’t get over but with the support of sorbet and coconut cappuccinos I’m taking it one day at a time.
I thought I’d never fall in love again. Hangovers would never be comforting. That I would never look at pizza again with the longing desire I once felt. Until I met the love of my life, vegan cheese. Looked like my former lover but without the toxic repercussions. Smooth, melty and full of, well I’m not really sure, but it’s good to me. No more late night loo trips thinking what I did wrong. I still miss crème brulee but I’ve learned, bacon is always there for me and life is not all about what you can’t have but what you do.